You're Kidding, Right? Re-Post
by millerdobey
Summary: Booth has a problem. Bones and Sweets try to help.


Okay, so this is just meant to be very silly. I am reposting this story because I have made a lot of changes to it, and have finally finished the sequel. It was originally written shortly after the 2008 Olympic games. I will be posting the sequel probably next week. I want to get it out before the gymnastic episode of Bones debuts. This was my very first Bones fanfiction. Obviously I don't own Bones, so don't sue me. All constructive criticism is welcome. Small references to "The Crank in the Shaft", "Man in the Mud" and "Woman at the Airport". Takes place around season three/four. If anyone is interested in Beta'ing the sequel, please let me know.

YOU'RE KIDDING, RIGHT?

Booth and Brennan entered their psychologist's office and sat down in their usual chairs. As soon as they sat down Sweets stuck his hand out, palm up, toward Booth.

Recognizing the universal 'hand it over' gesture Booth dug into his suit jacket for his phone, which he then proceeded to fling over in annoyance toward Sweets. Sweets fumbled several times, unsuccessfully trying to catch the phone until it finally landed in his lap. The therapist placed the phone next to him, then organized his notes before starting, "Okay, Agent Booth, lets start with you."

"Wha…," he looked at Brennan quickly, then back to Sweets, "Why me?" Pointing toward Bones, "I think we need to discuss why Bones has been flirting with me all week."

"What?" She turned her shocked gaze toward Booth, "I have not." She snorted, "You're delusional." Bringing her focus back to Sweets she clarified again, "I did no such thing, he's delusional."

As much as Sweets wanted to take the bait on this subject, he knew better. "Nice try at a re-direct there Agent Booth, but obviously something is on your mind. Your leg has been going a mile a minute since you sat down."

"It's true. It has," Bones added glancing at Booth.

Booth, not realizing that some how his leg had taken on a life of its own, abruptly stopped it. That's twice now that it's caused him unwanted attention.

"The last time I ignored your leg, I was reprimanded by your partner," Sweets reminded Booth.

Brennan corrected Sweets, "Not reprimanded, merely making an observation. An observation, I might add, you missed," she crossed her arms, as she sat deeper into her chair.

Sweets, making eye contact with Brennan, tilted his head contemplating if he should respond to her smug comment or move past it. He quickly turned back toward Booth, "So lets have it, what's causing you duress this time? The prized office paper weight per chance?"

Booth, after giving Sweets his death glare, took in a deep breath then sighed, "It's about Parker."

"Is everything alright?" Brennan quickly asked with concern.

"Girl trouble again?" Sweets asked.

"No, I just found out that Rebecca has been taking Parker to…," he sighed again, rubbing his eyes in half-disgust and half-embarrassment, "Well, she's been taking him to gymnastic lessons."

"You're kidding, right?" Sweets couldn't believe this is what his sessions had come to with these two. How was he supposed to collect research for his book when he was stuck dealing with such petty issues?

"What's wrong with gymnastics Booth? I took lessons when I was a child. It's a beautiful and graceful sport," Brennan asked.

Booth and Sweets snorted in unison.

"What?" she looked back and forth between them.

"Beautiful and graceful?" Booth asked in disbelief.

"What's wrong with that?" Brennan retorted.

"Um, yeah… Those are the last two words I want associated with my son. Besides, your statement only confirms my original thought."

"And what's that, Agent Booth?" Sweets interjected.

Booth reluctantly answered, "That gymnastics is a… it's a girlie sport."

"What?" Brennan looked confused. "You are incorrect Booth, it is also a sport for males."

"I know, but I just think it's weird. It's along the same lines as male figure skaters weird. My son should be playing baseball, football, or better yet… hockey," he emphasized in a deep manly voice. "How can gymnastics even be considered a sport anyway? I mean there's no offense or defense, it's more of a hobby than anything else," he mocked.

This time Brennan snorted, "You have no idea what you're talking about. Have you not seen how the male gymnasts are built? They are extremely strong."

"When did you become an expert on gymnastics anyway?"

"I told you I performed gymnastics as a child. I was pretty good I might add," she said with confidence.

Booth rolled his eyes "Gee, conceited much?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Of course you don't," he responded derisively.

Brennan continued on, ignoring his tone, "It was all over the television during the Olympics. It's one of the few sports I like to watch."

"How did you manage to watch the Olympics when you don't even own a TV?" Booth asked sarcastically.

Defending herself, "Angela and I watched it over at her apartment. How about you? Did you watch any of the Olympics?"

"A little," he replied.

"Did you watch any of the gymnastics?" She questioned.

"No," was his response.

"What sports did you watch then?" She pressed.

"Women's beach volleyball," Sweets blurted out while he shook his head up and down with a huge grin plastered on his face.

Brennan rolled her eyes.

Booth answered, "I tried to catch basketball, soccer and the occasional…," he cleared his throat before adding very quickly, "women's beach volleyball match."

Now both Booth and Sweets were grinning and bobbing their heads up and down at each other. When they reached across the table to bump their fists together Brennan couldn't stop herself, "You two are incorrigible."

"What?" Booth asked innocently.

"They won the gold medal," Sweets added.

"I cannot believe I am having this discussion. Booth you once said that volleyball was a stupid game and even called the players leaping losers." She started to rise from her chair, "But simply because the women wear practically nothing while playing, you somehow found it worthy of your time… I'm sure there are more important things I could be doing right now."

"No, no, wait Bones," he pleaded as he pulled her back down into her chair. "I'm sorry, I… I just don't know what to do. I have such little say in my son's life."

"Booth, I should have made myself clearer. When I said gymnastics was beautiful and graceful I was referring to women's gymnastics. Men's gymnastics is actually a very demanding sport. You have to be strong, fast and powerful. As I stated earlier male gymnasts are built… very well. Much like yourself," she blushed at the slip of her last statement.

"Why thank you Bones," Booth puffed out his chest.

"If you were shorter… and leaner," she added.

"Are you saying I'm fat," he teased.

"No, not at all," she studied his physique, "You look like you are the perfect weight for your build and height. I'm just saying your muscle mass is thicker, probably from working out with heavier weights and less repetitions. Leaner muscle is developed from less weight, but more repetitions. Like a gymnast who might lift their body weight hundreds of times during a practice. I once read that…"

Booth cut her off, "Bones, enough with the exercise physiology lesson. Can we get back on track here?"

"Sorry Booth. When I was performing gymnastics there were high school boys that took gymnastics for the sole purpose to help them become better football and soccer players. I don't think you have anything to worry about. It will help Parker improve his coordination, flexibility, endurance, strength and especially balance. All things needed to excel in any sport."

"I think I'm starting to see your point Bones."

"Perhaps you could go watch a class. Maybe that would help put your mind at ease," Brennan suggested.

"Yeah, good idea. Parker wants me to go to this thing called Open Gym. Apparently the kids can do what ever they want and parents can go out into the gym with them."

"You should go Booth. It would be a great bonding session for Parker and yourself. Plus, you will see that your concerns are unwarranted."

"Yeah, I think I will. Thanks Bones. Maybe you could come with us? I would love to see some of your moves."

When Sweets' head snapped in Booths direction with a big smile plastered on it, it caused Booth to clarify his last statement, which apparently had come out wrong. "Gymnastic moves," he emphasized the word gymnastics as he glared at Sweets.

Oblivious to it all, Brennan added, "I think I might like that. It sounds like fun." She smiled at Booth, which he reciprocated.

Sweets broke in, "Well, Agent Booth, I'm glad that we were able to absolve you of your dilemma. Now let's move on and talk about," a ringing phone cut off his next statement. He sighed, "Dr. Brennan, am I going to need to confiscate your cell phone from now on as well?"

Brennan ignored him, her fingers flying over the keys, "It's the lab. They figured out the murder weapon. I told them we're on our way."

"Great," Booth exclaimed as he and Brennan both jumped out of their chairs and headed toward the door.

As Booth stopped to open the door he had a thought, "Hey Bones, since you were once a gymnast does that mean you're flexible," he asked with an impish grin.

Though caught of guard by the question, she didn't let it show. "Very," she said in her most seductive voice as she walked past him with a mischievous smile dancing around her lips.

Booth mouthed the word "Wow" to Sweets before quickly walking over to snatch his phone off the table. After grabbing the phone he quickly made his way out the door, then sped down the hallway trying to catch up to Bones.

Sweets displayed a lopsided grin as he watched the door close behind Booth. He looked down to study his notes. Nothing. Again. Seriously, at this rate, he would be retired before his book was published. Maybe he could invite himself to the gym with Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth. It would be another chance to observe their inter-personal dynamics in a social situation since last time didn't turn out quite as planned. Besides, if all else failed, he could at least have fun jumping on the trampoline. "Yeah, that would be wicked cool," he said aloud to no one as he closed their file officially ending the session.

**THE END**


End file.
